


After the Falling

by Sapphire Sundial (strayphoenix)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Torture, Dubious Consent, Enemies With Benefits, Gaslighting, Hair-pulling, Handcuffs, Hate Sex, Heavy BDSM, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Porn With Plot, Sexual Coercion, Sounding, Urethral Play, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23395789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strayphoenix/pseuds/Sapphire%20Sundial
Summary: After winning the war for Heaven, Lucifer has everything he wants.Except the one angel he wants most.An alternate ending to Nixarim's "Before the Falling" fancomic. No archive warnings, but tags will be detailed and added as necessary.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 90





	1. Coronation Day

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Before the Falling](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/575425) by Nixarim. 



> This story originated as a delectable dream I had after re-reading Nixarim’s amazing fancomic on Instagram. I sent a story treatment to her as a gift for her birthday, and then wrote a second chapter summary. And a third. And a fourth. And…
> 
> Now I’m fleshing out and posting the thing as a gift to all those who loved her story but wondered, _hmmmm_ what if Lucifer had actually won though? Would he and Crowley have had _way_ more sex? 
> 
> Yes.
> 
> What I’m trying to say is that my subconscious is a fiend and I’m often angry that it comes up with better ideas than my awake mind.

In the expansive, golden throne room, Lucifer sits upon the Sapphire Throne of God with the archangel Raziel at his right and his loyal Morningstar angel Hastur at his left. He is waiting. 

Ligur approaches the throne and bows. “Everyone is in attendance, sire.”

“Splendid,” Lucifer says and languidly stands.

The throne room is full of the remaining angels of the war. Haggard, bloody, and beaten, they stand crowded in the center of the room, surrounded on all sides by Lucifer’s army of loyal Morningstar angels, all armed to the teeth. The defeated heavenly host cluster nervously according to their sphere and their rank — soon to be meaningless distinctions.

Luci addresses the crowd of angels in a booming voice. “You have all been brought here to witness new gospel: my side has won; the war is over. The archangels have surrendered to spare your lives and are in my custody. The decision now isn’t to fight back or submit: it is whether you will submit peacefully or be forced.” Lucifer begins to pace in front of Sapphire Throne, never taking his eyes off the crowd. “I have saved all of heaven by usurping the throne and giving free will to the angels that was meant for the humans. The world that was meant for the humans will be given to you, too,” he promises. The Morningstar angels cheer and shout. “You will be free to do on Earth whatever you wish without rules or chains or plans — so long as you thank me for your freedom.” 

Lucifer smiles ever so mildly. “I’d like my thank-yous now.”

The crowd of angels is silent. Ashen faces stare at each other between bloodied robes and broken wings, unsure of what to do. One angel speaks out, bravely. 

“God will come back!” shouts the angel. “She will come back and take Her rightful throne and punish you as you deserve!”

A ripple goes through the crowd. Lucifer watches it with amusement and nods to Raziel.

“God has forsaken you,” Raziel says. In a calm, clear voice, the Archangel of Mysteries boasts, “With a third of the Host in rebellion and a third dead as a result of the war, God has decided our universe is a wash. Figured She was better off abandoning it and making a new one closer to Her image. Heaven and Earth belong to _us_ now.”

The ripple becomes a wave of horror that sweeps through the crowd. Angels wail and gnash their teeth; some embrace in tears; others stare at an archangel they were taught to obey in shock and confusion. The lone angel who’d spoken out cries, “Blasphemy!!”

Lucifer nods to Hastur who draws an arrow, lightning fast. It hits its target, the outspoken angel’s left eye, and strikes them dead. 

Without deviating from his indulgent tone, Lucifer says, “I’m waiting.”

It starts with the angels closest to the outspoken angel’s body. Angels shakily get on their knees and lay themselves prostrate before Lucifer, faces touching the ground. The rolling murmur of _thank you_ and _amen_ rumbles through the throne room to Lucifer’s satisfaction. Others remain standing and glaring, but no one else speaks out. Lucifer _tsks_ in disappointment and waves a hand at his Morningstar angels. The armed angels pick through the crowd to the angels still standing and forcibly round them up at knife-point for Lucifer’s newly minted Conversion Spaces. Those who knelt, Lucifer welcomes to the new management. 

A timid angel lifts their head from the floor, shaking in terror. “What happens now?”

Lucifer smiles. From thin air, he produces an apple and tosses it to the angel. 

“Whatever you want.”

The Morningstar angels open the throne room doors and let the heavenly host loose into a limitless heaven without rules or ranks. Lucifer watches them filter out to the last angel, then dismisses Raziel and Hastur to their designated positions. Brimming with pride and exhilaration, Lucifer takes flight.

He flies through the numerous spheres, taking stock of the changes hes wrought. It’s beautiful chaos as the different spheres mingle and the Morningstar angels take over all the operations of heaven without rhyme or reason other than personal motivation. He did this. He and he alone had upended Heaven and Earth, and he still had plenty of work ahead of him. Lucifer flies past the burned and bare husk of the botany department tree and tutts to himself. It would be no easy task to destroy every inch of Mother’s creation and built it up again in his own image. 

Lucifer lands in front of a sphere guarded by two of his Morningstar angels. They bow. Lucifer instructs one to, “Bring him,” and dismisses the other to go for a flight around heaven for a while. The two angels bow again and disperse. Inside the sphere is a large, silver, prison-like dome with only a lavish, giant, four-poster bed covered in silks and fabrics fit for the new king of the universe. Attached to it, by a shackle that connects to his ankle, is Lucifer’s favorite starmaker.

Crowley’s one wing is still broken and limp; his ankle is chaffed from trying to yank free. Around his wrists are golden manacles that suppress his miracles, connected together by golden chain. At Lucifer’s arrival, Crowley gives up on trying to set his damaged wing and settles for following Lucifer’s movements with a hostile glare. Lucifer smiles at him and sits on the bed, lovingly tousling Crowley’s hair.

“Now that all the formal business is out of the way,” Lucifer simpers, “we finally have a chance to talk.” 

Crowley snarls at him. “I don’t have anything to say to you, you maniac. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

Petting his hair, Lucifer says, “Would you rather be treated like a traitor and tossed in one of the Conversion Spaces?” He leans in for a kiss.

Crowley jerks away from the touch. “I _dare_ you to try and ‘convert’ me,” he snaps. “I know the truth about you, Lucifer. I know the real reasons behind your rebellion. _Nothing_ you do or say will _ever_ convince me to forget that you—” Crowley fights down the knot in his throat “—you took _everything_ from me.” 

Lucifer smiles. “Not everything. An angel with nothing left to lose would be too much of a maverick in my new world order.” In Crowley’s ear, Lucifer whispers, “And there’s more than one kind of _conversion.”_

A Morningstar angel enters the sphere pulling by the hair a roughed-up Aziraphale. The Principality’s arms are bound, his wings wrapped tight in chains, and one of his eyes is swollen shut. The other stares at Crowley in terror. 

Crowley’s heart fills and shatters in the same breath. He scrambles away from Lucifer to reach Aziraphale but is restrained by the shackle to the bedpost. 

Lucifer leans back on his arms on the bed. “Allow me to introduce to you the last living Principality in all of heaven. He’s a wiley one,” Lucifer jokes. “He kept fighting after Michael officially surrendered. He even fought through the systematic execution of the remainder of his rank. But even then, I spared him from the fate of the other Principalities because I knew he and you were friends, darling.” Lucifer idly plays with Crowley’s wingtips. “Wasn’t it kind of me to provide you with some companionship now that I’ll be so busy running the universe?”

Crowley ignores Lucifer and asks Aziraphale, “Are you all right?” 

Aziraphale gives a nod and a hoarse, _“Yes.”_

Annoyed, Lucifer says, “I asked you a question.”

“Fuck off,” Crowley hisses.

The Morningstar angel kicks Aziraphale’s knees out from behind him. Yanking his head up by the hair with one hand, the angel holds Aziraphale’s own flaming sword to his throat. 

_“No!”_

Crowley lunges against his restraints towards Aziraphale. Lucifer fists a hand in Crowley’s good wing and pulls him back. 

Still calm, Lucifer repeats himself. “Wasn’t it kind and merciful of me to spare your friend? What do you say?”

“Don’t hurt him,” Crowley begs, “please don’t hurt him, please—!” 

“Then say thank you.”

Aziraphale gives the tiniest shakes of his head. Crowley mouths, _I’m sorry._

As expected of him, Crowley kneels at Lucifer’s feet and presses his forehead to the ground, laying prostrate. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Lucifer is unsatisfied. “Louder.” 

Crowley grits his teeth. _“Thank_ you.”

 _“Louder.”_

_“THANK YOU.”_

The words echo in the sphere. 

Then Lucifer says, “I don’t believe you.” He snaps his fingers. “Show me.”

Crowley looks up. Lucifer’s robe has vanished and he leans back on the bed, shameless. He wiggles his toes at Crowley

“You’ve always been _so_ good at making things up to me,” Lucifer purrs. “Always know _just_ how I like it.”

Crowley stares at Lucifer, then looks at Aziraphale and the Morningstar angel holding him at knife-point. To Lucifer, Crowley says, “You’re insane.”

Lucifer only smiles coyly. “Don’t tell me you’ve never imagined having an audience.”

Desperately, Aziraphale tries to dissuade Crowley, but Lucifer snaps again. This time, it’s Crowley’s robe that vanishes, reappearing as a gag in Aziraphale’s mouth. Crowley tries to cover himself with his one good wing, but Lucifer grabs it and holds it away from him so he can drink in the sight of his body. Crowley thrashes and Lucifer steps on his broken wing: the blinding pain outweighs immodesty and Crowley stops struggling. 

Lucifer takes a knee and pulls Crowley’s head up by the hair to speak directly in Crowley’s ear. “You’re angry. Good. I _want_ you to be angry. I want you to make it _hurt_ , darling. Don’t worry. I’ll say if it’s too much. Got my safe word all picked out.” Lucifer leans in closer to Crowley but raises his voice; he looks straight at the Morningstar angel and Aziraphale when he says, _“Say Goodbye.”_

The Morningstar angel yanks Aziraphale back and makes to slit his throat. Crowley screams and bucks, but Lucifer lifts a hand and the Morningstar angel eases the sword off Aziraphale’s throat. Releasing Crowley, Lucifer returns to the bed to make himself comfortable. 

Crowley stares at the floor. He can’t bear to meet Aziraphale or Lucifer’s eyes. “Why are you doing this to me?”

 _“I’m_ not doing anything, darling,” Lucifer says, propping himself on a pillow and adjusting himself on his stomach facing the others. _“You’re_ the one showing me gratitude for sparing your lover, granting you free will, and releasing us all from God’s servitude. _You’re_ asking my forgiveness for your betrayal and begging for a place again by my side.” Lucifer snaps his fingers and the shackle attaching Crowley to the post vanishes, as does the chain between his manacles. Lucifer smiles. “I’m waiting.”

Crowley bites his tongue so hard, it bleeds. Knowing he’d never make it to Aziraphale faster than the flaming sword, Crowley climbs to his feet and silently asks for Aziraphale’s forgiveness. Staring straight at the floor, Crowley walks over to the bed. 

Aziraphale shouts something through the gag, but it’s muffled and indecipherable. The Morningstar angel pulls Aziraphale’s hair so that he’s forcefully staring at the ceiling as Crowley climbs up behind Lucifer. To the Morningstar angel, Lucifer tutts, “No, no. Make him watch.” 

The angel forces Aziraphale to look head-on as Crowley, humiliated, begins to work himself up into an arousal with one hand. Thinking of Aziraphale makes him burn with helpless fury; thinking of Lucifer makes him rage with vicious, vindictive hatred — which only makes Crowley loathe _himself_ because he knows that’s exactly what Lucifer wants from him. 

With another miracle, Lucifer readies himself for Crowley. “I expect only the most _heartfelt_ gratitude,” he murmurs, turning his head to look up at Crowley from behind a messy curtain of black hair. “And if you make me scream real pretty,” Lucifer purrs, “I’ll make sure Aziraphale returns the favor when it’s his turn to show gratitude.”

That does it. Something snaps inside Crowley. The adrenaline stops differentiating between _anger_ and _arousal_. He grabs Lucifer by the hair and shoves his face down, snapping his hips into Lucifer’s ass with full force. Lucifer cries out, very pretty indeed, and Crowley is consumed by his furious desire to take Lucifer apart and make him suffer for every betrayal and every manipulation. 

Crowley pulls at Lucifer’s hair, yanks out fistfuls of feathers, and grabs his wrists and hips hard enough to leave brilliant bruises. Lucifer comes with a divine groan, but Crowley isn’t finished seeing red. He flips Lucifer onto his back and keeps his punishing pace, holding a hand down on Lucifer’s throat as he ploughs him, squeezing tighter when Lucifer smiles up at him in unbridled pleasure. 

The second time Lucifer comes, he locks his legs behind Crowley’s ass tight enough to bring him to a stop and clenches down around him, so unforgivingly that Crowley’s unthinking body releases into Lucifer’s. Crowley collapses bodily on top of the other angel, completely spent. He’s dizzy with the sudden drop of adrenaline and foggy-minded from the whirlwind of hate sex. 

Lucifer nuzzles Crowley’s hair and licks the shell of his ear. Slurring in his haze of bliss, Lucifer whispers, “You’re welcome, darling. Very welcome. Your gratitude is noted. Now. Say Goodbye.”

Reality slams back into Crowley when Aziraphale cries out through his gag. Crowley’s head snaps up, but he could never be fast enough to stop how swiftly the Morningstar angel slits Aziraphale’s throat. 

Crowley throws himself onto the floor, further breaking his damaged wing when his sluggish limbs refuse to cooperate with him. The pain has him moving, has him screaming Aziraphale’s name, as the Morningstar angel leaves without a word and Crowley half-crawls, half-staggers to Aziraphale’s side. _“No no no no!”_

Thinking fast, Crowley yanks the gag of robe from Aziraphale’s mouth and presses it to his bleeding throat, hating the sudden mental comparison to what he’d done to Lucifer just minutes before. Aziraphale stares up at Crowley with his one eye, terrified, as he chokes on his blood. 

Crowley whirls around to the bed where Lucifer is lounging in post-sex afterglow. “I did what you asked! I did _everything_ you asked!”

Lucifer sounds lazy and unbothered when he says, “I hardly asked for anything. Some simple gratitude.” 

The golden manacles nullify every miracle Crowley tries. He gathers Aziraphale up in his arms, pleading, “Stay with me, angel, stay with me…”

“I didn’t ask for your love or your loyalty,” Lucifer continues. “Those will come in time. I didn’t even ask for an apology.” Lucifer turns his head to look at Crowley, eyes calculating. “Do you think I should have to ask for an apology?”

Aziraphale paws uselessly at Crowley’s bare chest with his bound hands, growing weaker. Crowley hugs him close. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. Then louder, to Lucifer, “I’m sorry!” 

Lucifer props himself up on one arm, callous, and says, “For what?”

“For betraying your trust,” Crowley says, desperate and rambling, “for breaking your arm and not believing in your vision, for...for not thanking you sooner for your mercy. For not trusting that you were right all along, for not… for… for _everything_. Everything! Please!”

Lucifer takes his time weighing Crowley’s apology. Aziraphale’s hand drops; his eyes begin to grow unfocused. 

“Don’t let him die!” Crowley buries his face in Aziraphale’s hair and says what he knows Lucifer wants to hear: “I’ll do anything!”

Lucifer smiles slowly. “Bring him.”

Crowley quickly lifts Aziraphale into his arms and lays him next to Lucifer on the bed. Lucifer crawls to Aziraphale’s side and holds a glowing hand over his throat. The wound is closed; the bleeding stops.

Aziraphale’s eyes flutter weakly and he murmurs Crowley’s angelic name. Crowley strokes his face and thickly whispers, _“Thank you thank you thank you.”_

Lucifer grabs Crowley by the hair and maneuvers him into an open-mouthed kiss. “You’ll have eternity to express your gratitude,” he promises wickedly. 

He miracles the shackle back onto Crowley’s ankle and Crowley’s robe back onto his body. It’s covered in Aziraphale’s blood. Lucifer reaches for Crowley’s now twice broken wing and heals it without prompting. When it’s good as new, he kisses it, then the crown of Crowley’s head.

“Well, I’m off to run the universe. Don’t stay up waiting for me,” Lucifer says. He clothes himself in gold and pearls and the most beautiful linen before exiting the sphere, leaving Crowley and Aziraphale alone.

Aziraphale weakly grabs Crowley’s hand, murmuring his name again. Crowley takes Aziraphale’s hand and holds it up to his lips, begging for forgiveness. 

“I promise,” he whispers, “somehow, someway, I’m going to get us out of Heaven.”


	2. Feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale manage a conversation and a confession, before Lucifer returns to apologize and re-train his favorite angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for pipis and feathers inside of pipis. See tags for additional warnings.

As Aziraphale drifts into unconsciousness and recovery, Crowley takes vigil at his side. The shackle to the bed won’t allow him to get onto the mattress, but he rests his head besides Aziraphale’s bound hands and arcs one wing over the bed to blanket Aziraphale in downy feathers. The small kindness does nothing to stem the shame that burns through Crowley.

How could he have lost himself so completely in his anger? If God Herself didn’t sweep down to punish him in the moment, then She really _was_ gone. Lucifer had truly won. And now Lucifer’s target was on Aziraphale. If Crowley had been braver and taken Lucifer out when he’d had the element of surprise instead of just mangling his arm, none of this would have happened. The war would have ended; Lucifer’s forces would have surrendered; only Crowley would be suffering now as traitor to both heaven and the rebellion. Crowley wonders if heaven’s punishment would have been worse than this. He doubts it. 

Physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted, Crowley surrenders to sleep. When he drifts back into consciousness, he is dimly aware of fingers playing in his hair. 

Crowley yanks away from the touch, spreading his wings wide to defend himself against Lucifer’s sick perversion. But the fingers in his hair belong to Aziraphale, who shrinks in on himself at Crowley’s frantic reaction. 

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale murmurs, “I didn’t...mean to startle you.”

The relief of seeing Aziraphale awake and alive flushes out Crowley’s panic. He crawls back to the bedside, ignoring Aziraphale’s mumbled apologies, and brings Aziraphale’s bound hands to his lips and kisses them repeatedly, whispering, _“Thank you thank you thank you,”_ to no one in particular. 

Aziraphale is still trying to apologize. “I’m so sorry, dear. I should have asked...I should have _realized_ — _”_

Crowley gives a watery laugh and shakes his head. “You perfect bastard. Trying to apologize to _me.”_ He kisses each of Aziraphale’s knuckles then holds the back of his hand up to Aziraphale’s swollen eye. “How are you feeling? How long have you been awake? Your eye is looking better.” Crowley swallows when he notes the thin white line below the bob in Aziraphale’s throat — lasting evidence of Lucifer’s violence. 

“I’ve been awake awhile,” Aziraphale answers, gesturing towards the area of sphere where Lucifer had exited. “Mostly without moving. I worried that if I was awake, someone would come drag me back to a conversion space.” He sets his jaw. “If Lucifer’s going to try and convert me one way or another, I’d prefer it done where I can’t hear the screams of the archangels.”

“So it’s true, then,” Crowley says, hushed. “The archangels surrendered and God’s abandoned us.”

Aziraphale nods mournfully. “No one’s felt her presence since the final battle.”

Crowley sits back on his heels and shakes his head in disbelief. “I’d hoped he was boasting, trying to scare me into submission. He hasn’t let me leave this room since he broke my wing. He could have told me anything he wanted.”

“He told you the truth,” Aziraphale confirms. He curls into his fetal position. “Heaven’s army has surrendered; I’m the last of Her Principalities.”

“There must be something we can do,” Crowley insists fiercely. “Is no one fighting back?!”

Aziraphale shushes him and nods his head towards the door, no doubt implying that Morningstar angels are posted outside, listening. In a hushed whisper, Aziraphale says, “I’m fighting back. So are you. But most of the remaining angels have yet to realize they have the power to do so. Free will takes some building up to.”

Crowley scowls at the door, then at Aziraphale. “You should have roused me as soon as you were up so we could start planning!”

Sheepish, Aziraphale looks away from Crowley’s eyes and mumbles, “I imagined you needed the rest after...after everything.”

Crowley is washed over with greater shame: not just that he blindly ravaged Lucifer, but that Aziraphale was forced to witness. The only angel that truly cared about Crowley had watched him ignore all sensible warnings, bring about the destruction of Heaven, and then surrender to carnality with their new dictator. Crowley stares down at Aziraphale’s dried blood on his robe. He doesn’t blame Aziraphale for never wanting to look him in the eye again.

“How long has he been using you like that?” Aziraphale asks gently. 

Crowley owes Aziraphale the truth, even if it means Aziraphale never speaks to him again. Leaning his back against the bed and speaking to the wall, Crowley shamefully tells Aziraphale that he and Lucifer have been intimate since Crowley’s last visit to the third sphere, when he and Aziraphale talked under the botany department tree. “He found me while I was working on a nebula I’d left unfinished. It’s...still unfinished.”

Tentatively, Aziraphale swallows. “Was it...like this?” 

Crowley shakes his head. He and Lucifer had been intimate dozens of times after their first in the nebula, since both time and space were more flexible in the outer spheres — but Lucifer had never held anyone at knife-point to force Crowley into it. Crowley had always engaged in their sex willingly. He’d thought it was damn-near love back then, before the facade unraveled. 

“I’m sorry for getting you involved in my and Lucifer’s drama,” Crowley sighs. He hangs his head. “There aren’t words to express my regret that Lucifer’s now weaponized his jealousy against both of us.”

Aziraphale’s reply is immediate. “This isn’t your fault.”

Crowley only laughs bitterly. “Of course it is. I wanted to be with him. I wanted it even this last time. I wanted it to _hurt_ him.”

“You didn’t have a choice,” Aziraphale whispers

“But I did,” Crowley argues. “Before. Dozens of choices, and I chose him every time. Over my responsibilities. Over _you_ , Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale shakes his head. “Misinformed choices. Manipulated choices. It’s not free will if you’re not free.”

The guilt and shame have a stranglehold on Crowley. “If I hadn’t tried to save you… If I hadn’t kissed you under the botany tree where he could see—”

“We’d still be right here,” Aziraphale says with such iron in his voice that Crowley looks up at him in surprise. Aziraphale’s brilliant blue eyes are bearing right into Crowley, unwavering. “Except I’d be very upset I was being punished for Lucifer’s illogical jealousy instead of his justified one.”

Crowley blinks at Aziraphale, taking a moment to unravel the confession before wiping at the corners of his eyes. “You’ve always been a better angel than me,” he tells Aziraphale with half a smile.

“I thought I was too much of a bastard,” Aziraphale says, which makes Crowley laugh and scrub at his eyes a little bit harder. Biting his lip, Aziraphale asks, “...Will you kiss me again?”

Helplessly, Crowley indicates his shackle. “I can’t reach.”

Aziraphale groans as he attempts to sit up with his bound hands and chained-up wings. Still, he tries for a smile. “I’ll meet you where you are.”

Two Morningstar angels enter the sphere, interrupting. They’re armed with short swords and leering expressions. Crowley remembers them from the Morningstar: prideful angels who longed to be recognized for their strength. The bigger of the two smirks and says, “Break time’s over.” 

Crowley stands facing them and extends his full wingspan to barricade Aziraphale. 

“Move aside, starmaker,” says the smaller angel, “or you’re going to make it worse.” 

“Samandriel, Mikaela, surely we can work something out here,” Crowley says cordially, staring down the two angels.

“We don’t negotiate with whores,” the larger of the two, Samandriel, says and steps towards the bed. 

Crowley puffs his wings out larger. “The only way you’re getting to him is through me,” he says with a mild smile, “and I don’t think Lucifer would appreciate you boys roughing up his _‘whore’_ one bit.”

The thought gives Samandriel and Mikaela pause. They exchange a glance. 

Before Crowley can think through his next move, Aziraphale spins him around by the wing and kisses him. It’s desperate and bold, like their kiss under the botany tree. Crowley’s brain has barely a second to process what’s happened when Samandriel socks Crowley in the back of the head. The Morningstar angel holds Crowley down on the ground with his body weight while Mikaela grabs a furiously thrashing Aziraphale by his chained wings and drags him from the sphere. Crushed under Samandriel, Crowley has no breath to beg. 

“I love you!” Aziraphale shouts. Then he and Mikaela are gone. 

With a sneer, Samandriel lets Crowley up and departs after the others. Alone, Crowley fruitlessly yanks at his shackle and crawls as far as he can towards where the angels took Aziraphale.

“I’m sorry,” he says to the empty room, burying his face in the floor as the agony comes fresh, “I love you, too.”

Crowley doesn’t have to wait long until Lucifer arrives. 

The new King of Heaven comes brushing soot off his expensive clothes, explaining idly to the glaring Crowley that he was just down on Earth, burning to ash all the greenery God had so painstakingly created and placed. 

“Clean start,” he says to Crowley, disappearing his flashy gold and silk robe and replacing it with the more plain style he wore when he was running the Morningstar. With another snap, Crowley’s blood-stained robe is clean and fresh. “A do-over,” Lucifer says. 

He sits cross-legged on the floor a meager distance away from the bed and pats the space in front of him. “Come. Let’s talk.”

“Where’d you take him?” Crowley demands.

“Back to his Conversion Space with the other angels in need of re-educating. Put your wings away. Come. Sit.” Lucifer miracles a plush cushion right in front of his crossed legs for Crowley to sit on. “I want to apologize.” When Crowley makes no move to join him, Lucifer tacks on, “I thought you’d appreciate the privacy, but if you’d rather I bring Aziraphale back to watch…”

Crowley reluctantly obeys. He puts his wings away and crawls over to where Lucifer is sitting. It’s the precise distance from the bedpost as Crowley’s length of chain. It works out that Crowley has to sit with one leg spread wide to the side in order to settle in front of Lucifer. 

Lucifer wraps his arms around Crowley’s waist and nuzzles his ear with kisses and whispers, “I might have gone a bit too far on coronation day. Special occasion, you know.”

“I know,” Crowley answers, dripping in vile. He keeps his hands to his sides, even when Lucifer sucks on his neck in just the way he likes.

“But now, it’s just us,” he whispers, nipping down the skin of Crowley’s neck to his shoulder and kissing a constellation of freckles. “No performance. No point to prove. Just the two of us. Just like it used to be.”

“Back when I didn’t know you were a homicidal dictator playing us all to take heaven over for yourself,” Crowley answers boldly.

Lucifer hums to himself. He takes the loose chain between Crowley’s manacles and pulls it up and behind Crowley’s head, wiggling his own body and wings in between the chain and Crowley’s back. Crowley begins to test the restraint, but a snap of Lucifer’s fingers shortens the chain. Dread clenches in Crowley’s stomach when he realizes that his arms are now pulled back against Lucifer’s shoulders, his spine flush against Lucifer’s chest.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more honest about everything,” Lucifer says. He slides his hands up under Crowley’s robe, dancing fingers up Crowley’s sharp hipbones and curved ribs. He bites at Crowley’s ear. “I’ll start being more honest, if you promise we can go back to the way things were.”

Lucifer’s hand makes a u-turn and heads straight down between Crowley’s legs. He tries to shift away, to clamp them shut, but his restraints won’t let him do more than lurch. Even then, Lucifer untangles one leg from his cross-legged position to hook with Crowley’s, pulling him open into a messy split. 

“Lean back. Relax,” Lucifer purrs into Crowley’s ear. With one hand, he hikes up Crowley’s robe like he’s raising the curtain on a show. With his other, he miracles something warm and scented and begins to stroke Crowley. “Let me apologize properly.”

Crowley bites his lip when Lucifer runs his nails along the underside of his erection. He hates himself for showing Lucifer exactly how to take him apart. As much as Crowley wished he could un-know all the terrible truths about Lucifer, he would do anything for Lucifer to un-know all the secrets of pleasure Crowley once confessed to him.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Lucifer says, stroking long and firm and slow. “Be honest and I will too, my polar star.”

Crowley thrusts involuntarily at the delectable pet name. He bites his tongue to bring him clarity as Lucifer takes that as a signal to pick up the pace.

“You lied to me,” Crowley grinds out. 

Lucifer kisses his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“You tried to kill— _agh!”_ The name chokes in Crowley’s throat when Lucifer twists at his nipple just so. Crowley strains to pull his arms down from Lucifer’s shoulders, but Lucifer positions his wings close to the floor and the added tension on the chain pulls Crowley’s arms back more securely.

“An overreaction, I’ll admit,” Lucifer murmurs, sounding genuinely remorseful. “I’m sorry. So _very_ sorry. Say you forgive me.”

He changes his grip and rubs his thumb over the plump head of Crowley’s cock. Crowley grits his teeth and jerks his face away from Lucifer’s searching kiss.

“You’re still fighting me, dear. I don’t want us fighting anymore.” Lucifer finally miracles away Crowley’s robe and traces his free hand down Crowley’s splayed legs to his asshole. His fingers circle and tease his entrance while his other hand pumps at a climbing pace. “Let go. Say we can go back to how things were. I promise your forgiveness will be rewarded,” he mouths against Crowley’s skin.

Crowley twitches and jerks, fighting his body’s thirst for more of Lucifer’s expert attention and his mind’s dark whisper that Lucifer can deliver exactly what he’s promising. He’s perilously close to climaxing and swiftly forgetting the rules of engagement. “I don’t— I _w-want—”_

“Tell me,” Lucifer says, dragging down harder in his strokes and pulling Crowley open wider with his hooked leg. “Tell me what you want. The world is mine and yours, alone. Say we’ll stop fighting, and anything you want is yours. Name it.”

_“Aziraphale!”_

Lucifer’s hand clamps down at the base of Crowley’s cock, bringing his terrible momentum to an halt. The chokehold brings Crowley swiftly back to clarity.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley repeats though rattling pants. “Let him go. I’ll do whatever you want, Lucifer. Whatever you say. Just let Aziraphale go.”

Lucifer says nothing for a minute as Crowley heaves against him, forcing himself back down from too close of a high. He doesn’t dare turn and look at Lucifer or read too closely into the straight-back tension in the darker angel’s posture. Instead, Crowley forces himself to relax and sultrily lean against Lucifer, voluntarily spreading himself open wider, in the hopes that it sweetens the deal.

Lucifer’s laughter starts low, growing louder. “Let him go? Let him go _where,_ exactly? I am King of Heaven and Earth. Ruler of the Universe. There’s nowhere your Principality can go that won’t belong to me.” His grip on Crowley’s cock turns painful. “I don’t just give up things that _belong_ to me.”

Slowly, Lucifer reaches behind him and plucks a medium-sized feather from his wing. He holds it up alongside Crowley’s erection, judging size. Realizing Lucifer’s intent, Crowley goes wild-eyed and thrashes, futilely attempting to escape how Lucifer has trussed him. 

Lucifer tutts in admonishment. “I was going to let you come first, dear, as an apology. But if you’re not in a forgiving mood, I can work with that too.” He flexes his wings and tightens Crowley’s chains. “Now hold still. It hurts more if you’re moving, remember?”

Crowley screams and arcs his whole body when Lucifer slowly inserts the feather into his penis, pushing it down his urethra until it hits his prostate. Pain and pleasure explode in red and white fireworks inside Crowley's brain; his instinct to yank away from the pain does, in fact, make it so much worse. The soft feather barbs burn and excite in equal measure. As his member adjusts to the intrusion, Crowley's vocalizations turn into staggered gasps.

“What’s the matter?” Lucifer coos, hoisting up Crowley's miracle-readied asshole and sitting it down in his lap, sheathing himself deep inside Crowley. He strokes Crowley’s perfectly straight erection, blissfully massaging the feather's sting and creating more pain at the same time. “I thought this was one of your favorites.”

 _“Smaller...feather…”_ Crowley gasps out. The one inserted now is twice the size of the last one Lucifer had used during their extended tryst in the nebula. The sting of the feather is so overpowering, Crowley barely registers the familiar stretch of Lucifer's cock inside him. 

“Was it?” Lucifer asks innocently. He reaches forward to pull the feather out. “We can try a different one?”

 _“No!”_ Crowley shouts. A bigger feather meant bigger barbs. And out was always worse than in. 

Lucifer unshackles Crowley from the bed with a snap. “Then you better get started,” he says, setting his hands down on either side of him, “because you finish when I finish, starmaker.”

With as little movement as possible and his arms still pinned to his shoulders, Crowley painstakingly maneuvers his feet under his hips, on either side of Lucifer, and slowly begins to ride him. Every bounce jostles his cock and sends a new bolt of pleasure-pain through him. 

Lucifer moans loudly in his ear. _"Faster."_

"I can't _go_ any faster," Crowley pants. "Please."

“If you don't want to go fast enough for my liking,” Lucifer whispers darkly, “I can bring Aziraphale back in to demonstrate the _exact_ pace I want.” 

Crowley bites his tongue until he tastes blood. Then he adjusts his legs and does as he’s told.

He rides Lucifer hard and fast until his cock bounces sharply with each thrust. At some point, Crowley becomes dimly aware of the tears running down his face, though he can’t remember when they started. Lucifer doesn't assist beyond his encouraging and appreciative moans as Crowley rides him to completion. Crowley grinds down into Lucifer’s lap as he spills inside him, exhausted from the pain and the effort of riding Lucifer with just his legs.

Crowley jolts back from his tired daze when Lucifer wraps his hand around Crowley’s cock.

“What are you doing?!” he demands. “You came, didn’t you? You finished!”

“What kind of selfish lover do you take me for?” Lucifer purrs, eagerly stroking Crowley’s feather-stuffed cock. “I’m not finished until you’re finished.”

Lucifer begins to jerk Crowley off in earnest. The mixed signals of burning pain and wicked pleasure send Crowley into an incoherent free-fall of _"stop, more, no yes, please!"_ until Lucifer reaches around and pulls the feather out a fraction from where it’s lodged. Crowley screams in climax, spilling semen out in all directions around the clogging feather. 

As Crowley comes down from his orgasm, Lucifer holds him close. He dotes kisses along Crowley’s face and shoulders, murmuring, “You were so beautiful, dear. So lovely. So perfect. I’m sorry, starlight, I’m so sorry.”

Crowley lets himself be kissed and caressed and soothed. For a moment, he lets himself pretend that it’s like how they were before. He’s too worn down to do anything more than pretend.

A miracle frees Crowley’s hands which have turned white, and Crowley collapses forward onto the floor, off of Lucifer at last. He unfurls his wings and uses them to hide whatever modesty he can scrounge up from Lucifer, who stands and makes himself presentable once more. Distracted by manifesting the appropriate clothes and fixing his hair, Lucifer tells Crowley he doesn’t hold his performance against him.

“We’re both going through some big changes with this new setup,” he says understandingly, “but I know we’ll find our way back to what we had before. Given enough time.”

With his last shred of defiance, Crowley growls out, “Fuck you.” 

Lucifer only smiles. “That’s the plan.”

One final miracle reattaches Crowley to the bed by his shackled ankle and makes the chain reappear between his manacles. Lucifer leaves the sphere without having returned Crowley’s robe back to him or having removed the inserted feather. Crowley realizes Lucifer deliberately left that task up to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry. 
> 
> Though if this is a little squick for you, you'll be happy to know that this is probably as intense as the sex scenes get. (Probably.)


End file.
